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The Puppet Crown by Harold MacGrath
page 63 of 460 (13%)
purple, not from atmospheric effect, but from the partly
congealed state of his blood. Already he was thinking that his
adventure had turned out rather well. It was but a simple task
for a man of his imagination to construct a pretty romance, with
a kingdom for a background. A maid of honor, perhaps; no matter,
he would find means for future communication. A glamour had
fallen upon him.

As to the girl, who had scarce spoken to a dozen young men in
her life, she was comparing four faces; one of a visionary
character of which she had dreamed for ten years, and three
which had recently entered into the small circle of her affairs.
It was little pleasure to her to talk to those bald diplomats,
who were always saying what they did not mean, and meaning what
they did not say. And the young officers in the palace never
presumed to address her unless spoken to.

What a monotonous life it was! She was like a bird in a cage,
ever longing for freedom, not of the air, but of impulse. To be
permitted to yield to the impulses of the heart! What a
delightful thought that was! But she, she seemed apart from all
which was desirable to youth. Women courtesied to her, men
touched their hats; but homage was not what she wanted. To be
free, that was all; to come and go at will; to laugh and to sing.
But ever the specter of royal dignity walked beside her and
held her captive.

She was to wed a man on whom she looked with indifference, but
wed him she must; it was written. A toy of ambition, she was
neither more nor less. Ah, to be as her maids, not royal, but
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